


Convincing Them

by OutcastTrip1995



Series: So, a Mando, a Dathomirian and an Umbaran Walk Into a Cantina [12]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: He needs rescuing so bad, Krell is a monster!, Poor tired Trauma, The Little Medic that Tried, Trigger Warnings: Abuse mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 07:17:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15431847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OutcastTrip1995/pseuds/OutcastTrip1995
Summary: Trauma is but a shadow struggling to survive. How on earth is he going to convince the Hellions and Outcasts that he's one of them and not the puppet they think?





	Convincing Them

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: abuse mention, death mention
> 
> Jeeze it's been ages since my last post; sorry!!!!! Hellions belong to naaklasolus!!! ^^
> 
> Sorry this one is kinda short ... I'm really struggling for inspiration atm ^^''

Trauma swallowed nervously as the transport descended down through the thick Umbaran mist towards the gathering of troopers and Jedi below. He was nervous; nervous about the Hellions and about the Outcasts. Neither group would trust him, or believe that he wanted to help them. After all; he was General Krell’s on call medic. Whenever the General called he had to answer … or face being used as both a literal and a proverbial punch bag by the irritable and unstable Jedi General. Inhaling deeply and shouldering his medic’s pack, Trauma stepped off the transport with a mute nod to the trooper escorting him down. Looking around at the sea of unfriendly and cold faces, he struggled not to flinch and curl in on himself as he quietly made his way towards General Krell. The dark, fist shaped contusion (bruise for those not selected for the medic track) was incredibly prominent on the Besalisk Jedi’s throat, a mottled dark purple-black that radiated outwards, colours changing to a sickening green at the outermost edges. It was a punch designed to inflict maximum pain and damage without being fatal … the mark of a professional. Setting his pack down and doing his damnedest to ignore the feral stares blazing into his back, Trauma pulled out a tube of bruise paste as well as a small tin of bacta to heal the damage that was definitely lurking below the outermost layer of General Krell’s skin. Knowing that the General’s vocal chords were probably also bruised and damaged, Trauma extracted some painkiller and anti-inflammatory hypos from his kit, professionally removing the caps before turning to work on his General. 

“Look at that bastard. Helping that monster … he’s no better than Krell.” 

Trauma flinched, glancing over his shoulder to see a lean clone in armour that had been painted in patches of black and grey, his cold golden eyes glaring out of a tattooed face that was hardened by war. The whole effect of the armour and tattoos made the other clone difficult to look at, that piercing golden stare made it almost impossible. Lowering his gaze and turning away, Trauma tiredly accepted the slur and went back to his work. He’d never be able to convince a clone like that that he wasn’t helping the General because he wanted to … but because he had no other choice. It was this or die … that was it. How could a clone like his detractor understand? The other clone was clearly well fed and strong, confident in his position and safe in the knowledge that he was too valuable to be abused. Trauma didn’t have such luxuries; as it was he’d had to take another segment off his belt just so the damn thing wouldn’t slide down his hips again only a few days prior. Sighing as he finished his work and stepped back, the tired little medic just shook his head and shouldered his pack again. 

“Let me know when the pain returns sir and I’ll give you another pain killer dose.” 

He didn’t expect a thanks and nor did he get one, General Krell roughly knocking him to one side as he stormed off to yell at the two other Jedi present. Righting himself, Trauma looked around nervously at the other clones before making his way over to the edge of the camp. It was clear he wasn’t trusted, or wanted … so he just needed to steer clear until he was needed by the General again. It sucked, his life. It really did … but Street wasn’t around to protect him anymore so he just had to suck it up and deal. After all, that was what he did best.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked! Please don't forget to tell me what you thought! X3


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